Birthday Blues
by CrystallicSky
Summary: Chase Young is having a pretty rough birthday. CHACK, ONESHOT


**Birthday Blues: Not So Bad, Actually  
**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than the way in which I chose to write this. I don't know why anyone would assume any different.**

**Warnings: Sexual implication, slight language, etc.**

Chase was having a pretty rough birthday.

To start it off, a Shen Gong Wu went active at approximately 3:00 AM, thus ruining his plans to sleep in an hour until 6:00 by forcing him to fend off the Xiaolin and claim the Wu for his own.

Afterwards, _nothing_ had really gone right.

Two of his younger warriors had managed to have a disagreement and bloody each other up fairly badly before he had a chance to interfere and stop their nonsense, three or four more Shen Gong Wu decided to activate at such intervals that he had not had a chance to eat any sort of substantial meal yet (very nearly causing him to _lose_ the last Xiaolin Showdown in combination with his lack of sleep), and because he wasn't feeling up to par, he had been just a pinch too slow in dodging a slash from the Sword of the Storm and a good inch of his hair had paid the price for it.

It had taken the combined effort of all the monks in addition to a fully-transformed Dojo to keep the wielder of the weapon (he was too blinded by rage at the time to recall exactly who it'd been) from being horribly mutilated.

In any case, it didn't much matter, now: his felines had been patched up and given boring and strenuous tasks until they learned better, all of the Wu he'd won were safely stored away, and his hair had been trimmed even with the lock that'd been cut. He was still exhausted and hungry, but there was plenty of time to take care of that now.

Heading towards his bedroom for a quick nap, because he was more tired than he was hungry, the warlord stopped dead in his tracks at a scent that was decidedly unwelcome in his palace at the moment: Wuya.

With his extremely bad luck today, it was conceivable that the witch had gotten in while those damned arrogant greenhorns had been tousling, and Chase growled, a stormy aura overtaking him as he realized he likely had another battle on his hands.

Upon reaching the door to his bedroom, however, all but ready to throw it open and give the woman _hell_, he stopped.

A note was pinned to the door.

Warily, he plucked the piece of paper into his hands and began reading it.

_Dear Chase,_

_I hope you realize that despite everything that's passed between us, I still respect you to some extent. Whether or not you believe me is your choice, and I could care less what you choose. In any case, this note **does** have a point, I swear, and considering how uppity you get when someone's been in your house without your permission, I'm going to make this quick and get right to the point: because today's a special day, I took the liberty of getting you a present. Now, it's not something you asked for, but I've always thought you'd like one, even with all your going on about not needing or wanting it. Besides, with the way **your** day's been, I think you **deserve** to indulge yourself and have a little fun. Hope you like it,_

_Wuya_

_P.S.-You're weird about this kind of thing, so allow me to assure you that he wants it **bad**. Now go enjoy your birthday present, already!_

A bit puzzled, the warlord took his eyes off the piece of paper and opened the door, only to drop the note in shock at the sight of his 'present.'

Upon his bed, wearing nothing but a black bow around his neck was Jack Spicer, blindfolded, gagged, and tied by the hands to the headboard. He had obviously been captured by surprise as his hair was un-gelled and no black lines were drawn beneath his eyes, muffled struggling sounds escaping the goth as he tried his damnedest to get free.

Gaping a bit, Chase was struck dumb as he realized that the white body writhing on his sheets was enticing, and certain parts of him seemed to suggest that the scene wasn't yet complete: he should be on top of that writhing body.

Today had been, in no uncertain terms, a crap-day. Wuya was right for once: he _deserved_ to indulge himself.

Despite the fact that the young man could not see and consequently swoon as he always did, the warlord smirked and approached the bed, the minute struggling immediately ceasing as he straddled Jack's waist. Oh, the squeak of sheer terror that came forth from the youth's throat was _music_ to his ears after such a rough day!

"Hello, Spicer," he purred in his most seductive voice, noting with pleasure that Jack's tense muscles loosened a bit at his voice. "This really hasn't been my day, you know. However," his voice became a husky growl, "I feel inclined to warn you that if you have any qualms about being fucked until sitting down comfortably is nothing but a dream, its not going to be _your_ day, either…"

::-::-::-::

The very next day, Wuya found herself smirking at the obviously rushed-looking letter that'd been sent to her.

_Wuya,_

_I appreciate your decency to put aside whatever animosity you feel towards me, and feel that I owe you, at the least, a more eloquently written show of gratitude than this. However, I am a bit busy at the moment enjoying the present you've given me, and likely will be for a while yet. He's surprisingly insatiable: if I didn't know better, I might think him a nymphomaniac. In any case, thank you and know that I am grateful._

_Chase Young_

_P.S.- Spicer offers his thanks as well._

**A/N: I've got, like, more than six other stories on the back-burner right now because I can't figure out what to write/don't have the time for them.**

**This, however, is one of the lucky ones that I could be bothered to finish. Hope you liked it! :D**


End file.
